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Gerallt Cronus

Gerallt Cronus

After finishing breakfast they’d left for the Leaky Cauldron and then that brick wall. Diagon Alley, what a place. Gerallt had been there before, with his dad, a while ago, but that was then and he had mostly been consumed by the idea of ice cream. Nowadays they were more focused on school supplies and more clothes, because apparently he kept growing. He didn’t really care about school supplies, besides a wand, but what he did care about: that window over there.

Letting go of Hekate’s hand, Gerallt weaved his way through the crowd and pressed himself closer, as close as he could go and pressed his nose right against the window, eyes impossibly wide. “Ohhhhh.” He didn’t care about the new firebolt, oh no. It was the broom that had a dragonhead as its handle. So sleek, so shiny, so pretty. The Ridgeback Racer was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Gerallt used his robe sleeve on the window, having built up a cloud of fog on the glass from his heavy breathing, and then pressed both hands against the window. “Do you reckon if I was good for the rest of the year, Santa would bring me that?” because if you don’t believe, you don’t receive. That, and who said Santa wasn’t real? Wasn’t he some old guy using the Philospher’s Stone and magic? And he wasn’t going to right out and ask for something outrageous, was he?